Breaking News Flash
by Hectopascal
Summary: Oneshots based on hilarious articles about our society. See the events as it happened through the eyes of your favorite Bleach characters.
1. Chapter 1

**Main Characters: Shirosaki (Ichi's hollow), Ichigo, Ikkaku, Iba, and Yumichika**

**Warnings: Shiro's mouth, improper use of substances (not drugs), random POV switches, completely AU**

** Disclaimer: Me no own Bleach, or the idea; it's based on an article at the bottom. Please no suing. It just ruins my day.**

XXXXXXXXXX

There were no words to describe the horror he was currently engulfed in, at least to Shirosaki Tetsu. No words to do justice to the absolute agony that he was living. No words to describe…his fucking _job_.

Two weeks ago his parents had finally had enough of his ways, which weren't so terrible he thought. Was it too much to ask that his mother had the common courtesy to just shut the fuck up and not bitch about the blood on his clothes when she did the laundry? He had no idea why his father had the urge to ridiculously attempt, attempt mind you, putting him in a counseling group with other _'misguided souls like him'_ was the phrase used.

The hell he was going to sit in a circle on a cheap plastic chair with the sad fucks that had just gotten out of juvie. He hadn't been to juvie. Yet. He'd been tried twice but the first time the judge had been scared shitless of him and had dropped the case. The second judge was made of slightly sterner stuff, so his old man had bribed the bastard, and that case was dropped too. No one bothered to try to report him after that, so he was free to rampage around town at will.

He'd gotten himself kicked out of the stupid thing at the first meeting by throwing a 200 pound bruiser through the second story window at the school where the group met after said bruiser had been stupid enough to call him, "white freak." He was used to such unoriginal remarks and was willing to let it go, if only because he'd been threatened with a cut off of his funds at home, but the asshole just had to shove him on his way past and when Shirosaki next realized what he was doing, he was enjoying the fresh breeze coming from a, _ahem_, slightly 'remodeled window'.

After that incident, which had involved frantic calls from the hospital, the school, everyone involved, their parents, and _grandparents_ for fucks sake, things just went downhill. First he'd_ accidentally_ lit the house on fire. The excuse he gave was that he was trying to fix dinner for his parents after a hard day of work and it just got away from him. He supposed it didn't help his case that he NEVER for any reason cooked, even for himself, and that when the fire brigade arrived he was found standing in the front lawn with a big grin on his face, laughing manically and yelling, "Burn fucker, burn!" That may have incriminated him ever so slightly.

The next thing to go wrong was his run in with one of the local gangs, the Soul Society. He was minding his own business in a secluded alleyway when, what should he hear but the sound of a beat down further in. So, like any _concerned _citizen, he'd headed in for a better view-I mean- to make sure the guy was okay. After he'd gotten bored of the rather amusing spectacle of four grown men beating up one, lone and obviously puny, he headed in for his bit of fun – No, not for fun, but to stop this hideous injustice.

After mercilessly beating the shit out of the four and the puny weakling had fled the scene the cops showed up. Apparently _Hanatarou_, had to remember to get the little shit later, had called the police out of concern. Like hell. Being caught with bodies on the ground, and blood everywhere does not endear your to the police, or your family once you've successfully evaded the police, or anyone really.

Point is, a week ago his father, Tensa, had found an apartment for him. Far away from the house. And paid the first week of rent for him. He'd then been informed that unless he wanted to be out on his ass in the street, which he didn't really mind, he'd have to do something he's told himself he'd never lower himself to do. Get. A. Job. And work. Work for his food, for his clothes, for his lodgings. They weren't going to give him a cent more.

Which is how he found himself is this situation.

Working.

As a fucking food cashier.

He'd gotten a break the second place he bothered to look. An old acquaintance of his was working there as manager. This kid who looks so much like him that it's a little creepy, just like the orange hair the kid had. Ichigo Kurosaki was his name, and they hadn't seen each other since high school. No doubt Ichigo wanted it to stay that way. _Too bad._ Perhaps, it's time we meet up again.

After a mild scuffle after closing time, minor insults and threats of violence, Shirosaki found himself cruising through the doors the next day for his new job. Only, Ichigo neglected to mention, by accident I'm sure, what exactly I would be doing here.

All damn day I had to repeat the mindless mantra; What would you like to order? Would you like fries with that? That'll be ten fifty, etc.

No fucking way they could pay me enough to wish everybody I saw a "Good Morning!" Or "Good evening." Or to have a pleasant day. Or to enjoy your food. _I hope you choke on it!_ It was so annoying! Pointless and irritating, that's what I spent eight hours of my day doing. Mindless and repetitive, I don't know how I stood it. I was quite proud of myself for not breaking the fatty's nose that kept coming back to order more food. I was preparing to swing when Ichigo caught my eye and shook his head. I sighed, he's right. It wasn't worth it.

That particular day was a real nightmare. Families from back to back with children who shrieked like they were being stabbed with nails; I wondered how they'd scream if someone really stuck them, that thought was enough for me to give the mother a small smile with the food. Rude dicks, who I couldn't hurt or risk being fired, my thoughts were given quite a workout with those but it wasn't nearly enough to give them a, "Have a nice day."

_One more hour, just one more hour_ was a circling chant in my mind to keep from snapping. I was going to make it through the day, that's what I tell myself anyways, but for the three assholes sporting Soul Society colors who swaggered in the door.

They could have gone to fuck with someone else's life but no, of course they had to come right over to me.

The three of them looked like something out of a kids fucking cartoon. All looked to be in their late teens like him but one of them was bald. Who the hell goes bald that young? The one next to him was wearing shades, the hell was his problem? It was after dark, and a short buzz cut. Looked like he was trying to go for the tough guy look and trying way too hard. Shirosaki resisted the urge to crack up as he looked at him.

The one standing behind them was the weirdest of all. He wasn't sure if the thing was male or female, because any tits were nonexistent and he/she had feathers (What the fuck are they doing on his face?) attached to his eyebrows. He was raving about some new beauty product that made his hair shinier to the other two, who were ignoring him.

After the first initial once over he dubbed them all beneath in notice and therefore, not worth his time or effort. Unfortunately, they didn't seem to feel the same way and just kept coming.

"Oi," the baldy yelled, "We wanna order!"

"What'll ya be having?" Shirosaki deadpanned.

"I want two double cheese –"

"No!" the feathered freak interrupted. "I want a salad! All that grease isn't good for my complexion."

Shirosaki twitched.

"Fuck your complexion!" said Shades. "And Ikkaku, I don't want any of that cheap ass cheese."

"Then what the hell do you want?" said Baldy, who's name, apparently, was Ikkaku.

"A tripe burger with no pickles or cheese with extra ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise," said Shades.

The feathered one started talking again, "All that packaged sauce is disgusting and I will not eat it, Iba."

"You don't have to eat it, I will." said Iba, aka Shades.

"I don't care what you guys are getting, I want two double cheese burgers for myself," said Ikkaku.

"How can you be so uncouth when I'm paying?" cried Feather.

"Easily," replied Ikkaku and Iba together.

Shirosaki twitched again. He felt a familiar the area between his shoulders tense, and began clenching and unclenching his fists. The three carried on, unaware of the violent, murderous impulses being squished down mere feet from them.

"Well, I won't buy it, and that's that!" said Feather.

"Aww, c'mon Yumichika, be a pal," wheedled Ikkaku.

Shirosaki growled, he so wanted to smash all their faces into the floor until they were a bloody mess, until they couldn't be told them apart from one another just by facial features. When Iba glanced at him, he covered it up with a forced coughing fit.

"Why don't ya talk amongst yourselves, fer a minute? I'll be right back," he managed to strain out, before executing a swift retreat.

He was hiding in the back room for no more than a few seconds when Ichigo discovered him.

"What the hell are you doing, Shiro?"

"Don't fucking call me that, Strawberry!"

"Don't call me that you bastard! What are doing? Go back to work."

"Just shut up, King! I need a minute to not lose it and slaughter those idiots outside."

"What them?" Ichigo had noticed the trio, they'd been in before, and were generally irritating and a nuisance to whoever had the bad luck to be dealing with them. That was fine with the other employees but with Shirosaki it might mean a visit from the police, and they could not afford that.

"They're nothing. The bugs beneath your feet, right? Now I don't give a shit about your problems, so keep your temper under control, and get your lazy ass back out there on the double." Ichigo strode from the room, and closed the door behind him.

"Yeah," Shirosaki sighed, "bugs." _What do you do with insects in the workplace?_ He blinked at the question that had come floating into his mind from his subconscious, then gave a feral grin. _You exterminate them_, he thought, _to prevent an infestation._ He went ruffling through the dull room quickly, straightening up when he found the gold. His grin got bigger.

_They really ought to thank me_, he thought, _wouldn't want such things crawling around in a respectable establishment._ He filled his palm with the powdery white substance and shoved it in his pocket. He put the cap back on the bottle and returned it to its place. Feeling ready to face anything he walked back to his station with a spring in his step. Ichigo raised his eyebrows as he went by, but didn't comment.

He faced off with the idiots again who were looking at him expectedly.

"Have ya made a decision yet?" he asked.

"Yeah, ages ago," Iba drawled.

"Where were you? You're lucky we don't call the manager over here," said Ikkaku.

"Right," said Shirosaki, smirking at them all slightly, "Sorry. What'll it be?"

"We'll have a two medium fries, a chicken salad, no dressing, two large Cokes, a medium water, a cheeseburger with everything on it, and a double with no pickles, and extra sauce on the side." Ikkaku reeled out.

"Will that be all?" Shirosaki asked, still with the disturbing smile on his face.

"Yes," said Yumichika.

"Okay, it'll be ready in just a minute. Please take your number," he handed over a slip of cheap paper, reading 78.

` He turned away as they left to find seats and grabbed the food, stuffing it into the bag along with the plastic cups. The only thing he took any care with was the French fries, after shoveling them into their cardboard container he reached his hand into his pocket and grabbed the stuff. Then he poured it all over the fries, adding a substantial amount to each. He looked at it with a critical eye, perfect! Looks just like salt.

He called them back over and handed them the bag. He didn't even twitch when Ikkaku snatched the bag from him, and Yumichika and Iba complained about the wait. He even managed to pull his lips up in an attempt at a smile, and with yellow eyes gleaming, gave his first, and only, "I hope you enjoy your meal."

After they left he breathed a sigh of relief and felt much better. The rest of his shift finished without a problem and he went back to his apartment to crash.

He was irritated when he was awakened the next morning by someone banging on his door. He ignored it, but it only got louder and more persistent. With a muffled curse he rose from his bed, and staggered to the door, considering the wisdom of bringing a metal pipe with him, with which he would beat the someone into unconsciousness, and then he could return to sleep. He wrenched the door open, mildly surprised that the someone was, in fact, more than one, and they both were wearing a cop's uniform, which surprised him much less.

"What do ya want?" he growled. He actually had a pretty good idea. "Do ya know how early it is?" Not that he did, but still.

"Mr. Tetsu, Shirosaki?" the one on the right asked. Shirosaki decided on the spot he would be Beat Droid 1 and the one on the left, Beat Droid 2.

"Yeah?" he said, making it a question.

"We have reason to believe that you may have been involved in criminal activity," said Beat Droid 2.

"Look," Shirosaki said, "I just got up, and I'm a little tired, so could ya just cut to the point?"

Beat Droid 1 exchanged meaningful glances with Beat Droid 2. They both looked at him, blankly. Shirosaki sighed, these could not be the best the city has to protect them from people like him.

"What do ya want?" he clarified.

"We would like you to come down to the station with us," said Beat Droid 1, looking eager to use the large stick by his side if Shirosaki resisted, like it would make a difference against him.

Shirosaki considered his options, instantly. Despite what most people tended to think, and with good reason too, he had a very sharp mind. He could go with the cops, they probably didn't have enough evidence against him and it would be written down as cooperation, which got him points, and if he was convicted he would get a lesser sentence. He could be deliberately difficult, and make them come back with a warrant, which they would, and he'd have to go legally, which would not get him anywhere or a lesser sentence. He could also assault both officers and leave them broken in his hall way which, while being the more fun of the three, would get him another charge.

He mentally sighed. _Let's have some fun with this._

"Yeah, sure. Let me just get dressed real fast," he said and shut the door in their stunned faces.

He grumbled as he pulled on clean jeans and threw a black jacket over the dark shirt he already had on. Stupid cops. He stopped a foot from the door, and grabbed his iPod off the counter. Wouldn't do to forget that, now would it?

Ready to go, he walked out of his complex with the Droids behind him, watching his every move. Really, they were so incompetent. It would have been funny were it not so sad. Spotting their ride in the parking lot he walked over and gave it a once over. Even sadder than the pair of them. It was unlocked.

Opening the passenger side he slid into the front seat, slamming the door behind him, and lifting his feet to rest on the dashboard. Plugging in his earphones, he turned the volume up. He glanced over when Droid 1 tapped on the window.

Shirosaki gave a feral grin, "Problem?" he stared right into his eyes, knowing how often his eyes creeped people out.

The Droid broke first. "No," he muttered and went to sit in the back seat.

"Good," he said and leaned his head back, closing his eyes, as one foot tapped to the beat.

**At the Station**

Shirosaki glanced up at the man who had dared to interrupt his music. He didn't bother to give any semblance of respect to the toadie.

"They're ready for you now."

_About time._ Shirosaki rose to his feet and followed him into the interview room.

**In the Interview**

"So," the questioner flipped back several pages, "Shirosaki."

He resisted the urge to laugh. These people were pathetic, insignificant in his view. Not worth worshipping the ground other, more competent members of their species, walked upon.

"Have you heard of something called sodium hypochlorite?"

_Of course, I have you idiot._ "No, why?"

**At the Court**

"Shirosaki Tetsu, you are accused of slipping three minors French fries laced with substantial amounts of," the judge paused and shook his head, "powdered bleach with intent to harm and without their knowledge or consent. This resulted in said three minors being instated in a hospital for stomach pumps and several days monitoring."

Shirosaki sighed. Not dead? They either had stocked the cheap stuff or he hadn't added enough. He'd be sure to find out later.

"How do plead?"

"Guilty as charged."

There was a gasp around the room. He snorted, such dramatics. They'd been even more shocked when he'd waived his right to a lawyer. What they didn't realize was that he already knew how this was going to end.

"As a minor, seventeen years of age, we have decided against trying you as a legal adult. You have been sentenced to six months jail time in Karakura Correctional Facility with no chance for bail. Court is dismissed!" and the gravel came down with a bang.

There were cries of outrage from the families of Baldy, Shades, and Feather demanding a harsher punishment but he didn't care. His punishment was actually less than he'd expected. He laughed. Everyone stared at him.

He gave a cheerful wave to the trio from days before huddled in the back of the courtroom, enjoying the way they flinched, as he was escorted from the room.

**In the Big House**

Jail was actually better than he expected. Sure he was stuck in a cell most of the day while people gawked at him like some rare species, but he didn't have to cook, clean, or (heaven forbid) hold a job to secure the niceties of life.

Shirosaki was relaxing on his cot when the asshole guard came to bang on the bars.

"Hey, Snowflake! You awake? Good news, you're getting your very own cell mate!"

He ignored him, continuing to lounge with his eyes closed. If someone was stupid enough to bother him, he'd just beat the shit out of them, so they huddled in a corner and left him alone the rest of the time he was enjoying his stay.

He heard the door creak open and a person walk in, then the door shut behind him. He thought whoever it was to just crawl over to his portion of the cell, and wallow in the misery of his life. What he was not expecting however, was –

"You bastard, Shiro!" and then someone to leap on top of him in an insane attempt to strangle the life from him.

"What the fuck?" he snapped his eyes open to see a familiar figure wearing a matching orange jumpsuit that clashed horribly with his hair. He jabbed at his assailer's kidneys, "Get off me you bitch."

Falling off the bed Ichigo Kurosaki coughed. "I ask you to control yourself and you do what? Poison them! With products from our restaurant! What were you going to do if they died?"

"I was planning on it actually."

"You were WHAT?"

"God, you're dense. Why the hell are you in here bothering me?"

"They came to my house a day after you were arrested. They charged me with assisting you, and I got the same damn sentence. They fired me at my job too. Do you have any idea how long it took me to get promoted? It's all your fault!"

Shirosaki grinned, sitting up, "Aw, it's not so bad in here. A lot of fun actually. Tell you what, in the next six months we could completely take over this prison. I'll even split the power base with you, 70/30."

Ichigo groaned. "I hate you. You don't even care. This is gonna be high school all over again, isn't it?"

"You better believe it."

"And what bullshit is this 70/30?"

"60/40?"

"50/50!"

"It was my idea! And it's thanks to me we have this wonderful opportunity!"

"Don't remind me."

"60/40?"

"You know what, I don't care. So long as I get the infirmary and cafeteria."

"I want the yard."

"No way!"

"Okay, we'll split the yard."

"Deal."

Shirosaki smirked, "Okay, let's do this!"

XXXXXXXXXX

** A/N: Aww, poor Shiro, he had to get a job. Please do not attempt to copy Shirosaki's behavior, while it is funny, it will cause a lot of people a lot of problems, and I take no responsibility for it. This is going to be a collection of one/two shots based on international news. A funny and easy way to learn about general society. Of course, it's not exact, but the main idea is there. The original article was:**

_**A six-month jail sentence has been given to a former Bloomfield restaurant worker accused of putting powdered bleach on French fries ordered by three teenagers who argued about their order.**_

** People be doing some weird shit. If you have something good, I'll take requests. Updates are sporadic but hey, I'm procrastinating on something else with this. It's just for fun. Till the next chapter.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: In my defense, I didn't really want to do this all about Isshin but I truly thought that he would be the only one stupid enough in the entire cast to do this. Well, maybe Keigo would, but Isshin definitely tops. Also, don't do this in RL. Please. Seriously, if I see another article like this I will laugh so hard I will fall on the floor and die. **

**Main Characters: Isshin Kurosaki and Kisuke Urahara**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Bleach or Tsubasa (you'll see what I mean) manga or anime nor, sadly, do I know the poor fool who did this the first time.**

**Warning: OOC (I've always thought that **_**something**_** had to drive Isshin to turn into the weirdo his is, apparently it was our favorite blonde shop keeper), crack, and massive amounts of stupidity. Enjoy!**

XXXXXXXXXX

"I'll bet -"

How many times have those two short words preceded a world of trouble? The trouble may come in all shapes and sizes: financial, physical, psychological, even accidental at times. This particular instance, however, was on a different level of trouble entirely. To be fair, it started simply enough.

"Hey, Isshin."

"Mmm?"

"I want a hamburger."

Isshin looked up from the magazine he was skimming, "So?"

Urahara looked him dead in the eye, "Go get me one."

Isshin returned to his magazine, "Get it yourself, Kisuke."

"Dun wanna," Urahara's head lolled back, "get me one Kurosaki."

Isshin didn't even glance up, "No."

"Get me one, get me one, get me one, get me one –"

"I don't think so."

"-get me one, get me one, get me one, get me one, get me one, get me one –"

"Not gonna happen."

"-get me one, get me one, get me one, get me one, get me one –"

"Shut up, you big baby."

"-get me one, get me one, get me one, get me one," Urahara dropped to the floor and started flailing around, "get me one, get me one, get me one, get me one –"

"You're throwing a tantrum," Isshin's right eye was twitching.

"Is it working?"

"No."

"Get me one, get me one, get me one, get me one –"

Isshin's hands were shaking slightly, his eyes fixed on a set point on the page, no longer seeing the text.

"– get me one, get me one, get me –"

"Okay, fine!"

"Really? Thanks, Kuro-chan!" Urahara bounced to his feet to seize Isshin in a hug. "You're the best!"

Isshin went red, "Yeah, yeah, let go." He shuffled away and reached for his wallet. "What do you want on it?"

"What?" Kisuke pretended to be shocked yet a smile danced mischievously around his lips, "I can't let you pay for that!" he grabbed Isshin's wallet from his pocket.

Kurosaki looked ticked, "Then give me your money."

Urahara smiled brightly, "I don't have any!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Have fun!"

"What are you on? You expect me to waltz down the street and magically produce a burger for you without any cash?"

"Yup!"

Isshin rubbed his eyes with one hand, "You want me to steal you a hamburger?"

"That's right!"

A moment of silence, then – "Are you high?"

Urahara pouted, "I don't do drugs. You know that."

Isshin stared at him levelly.

"Well, not the kind that gets you high anyway."

"Are you mental?"

"Of course I am. You already said you'd do it."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

"You aren't going to drop this are you?"

"Not a chance."

"I won't do it."

Then the damning words were spoken: "I'll bet you will."

This made Isshin pause momentarily. Urahara had been a longtime friend of his and he knew the sly blonde had never made a single bet in his life that included the slightest possibility of him losing.

"Bet what?" he would explore this venture, but be cautious about it.

"Hmmm, well now~," Urahara grabbed Isshin from behind in a hug, "what would wittle Kuro-chan want from me?"

"I want you to stop with the stupid nicknames."

"It was a rhetorical question Isshy baby."

"How much do you want me to rip that pretty hair of yours out by the roots? Because it's about to happen."

"Aw, you think my hair is pretty, that's so sweet of you honey!"

Isshin tried to throw Urahara off of him and failed. The man had an iron grip when he wanted to be especially irritating. "Cut it out!"

"Undying friendship."

"Huh?"

"I'll give you undying friendship."

Isshin snorted, "Already have that."

"Unlimited access to my shop?"

"Not enough."

"But I'm about to put in a super cool underground training room." Urahara whined.

"Probably violating seven building codes while you're at it. Still not enough."

"I'll buy you dinner."

"You don't have enough money for a hamburger."

"I'll get you an hour of alone time with Misaki."

Misaki was a part-time worker at Urahara's shop and Isshin had, to be honest, a bit of a crush on her. He swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat, he knew this was a bad idea, he knew, but it was so _tempting_.

"How?"

"You just leave that to me. How long's it been since you've seen the old girl anyway? A week?"

"Two months."

"Okay then, here are the terms. If you get me my burger, you get an hour long play date. If you don't, well, then we'll just have to wait and see."

"That's it?"

"That's it. No tricks," Urahara raised his hands innocently, releasing his death grip.

Isshin groaned in defeat, "Just this once. You win."

Urahara grinned and buffed his nails on his shirt, "Of course I did. I always do. Now it's about fifteen after ten so it should be plenty dark."

"Asshole," Kurosaki made for the door.

"If I may make a suggestion," Urahara called, casually sitting on the floor, "try the vents. They always do that in the movies."

"Butt out." The glass rattled as the door slammed.

"Well," Urahara grinned cheekily, "this should be fun. I wonder if I should give him a little extra help, hmm? Hahahaha~" he snapped open a wooden fan and shoved a green and white stripped hat on his head for disguise. Suitably prepared, Urahara almost skipped out the front door.

XXXXXXXXXX

_This is stupid._

Isshin balanced on the lid of a dumpster, prying off the cover of an AC duct.

_This is so stupid._

Regardless of the stupidity of the situation, here he was, berating himself for getting into yet another mess courtesy of Kisuke Urahara while committing a state, or possibly federal, crime and choking on the rising stench of week old yogurt cups and green sesame seed buns.

Isshin gave a final straining heave and was rewarded when the metal covering scrapped free and clattered to the ground. He gave a quick scan around the deserted parking lot of Burger Haven to see if the noise had attracted any unwanted attention. As the coast was clear, he pulled himself up and into the vent head first, dragging his weight forward with his arms. It was all going well until he tried to get in further than his waist line when _it_ happened.

He got stuck. Then he had a brief ten minute panic trying to free himself that accomplished nothing but wedging the fit tighter.

Depressed and resigned to whatever bullshit fate the world had in store for him Isshin gave up and hung weakly, wallowing in his misery. Despite his resignation, even he didn't think that he had done enough wrong in his life to be delivered into the nightmare that was Urahara's idea of fun.

"Hiya pal!" the shop keeper jumped up behind Isshin scaring six years off his life.

"Urahara?" this was not reassuring in any way, shape, or form, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Oh nothing but helping out my very best friend. Did you get my hamburger?"

There was a muffled exclamation of rage, "No I didn't get your damn hamburger! I'll buy you one later, just get me the hell down!"

"Relax, relax," Isshin was not physically capable of relaxing at that moment, "I told you I'm here to help. Just sit tight."

"Get me down!"

"Do you hear that Ishi?" there was a pause, "That is the sound of approaching rescue."

Straining his ears, Isshin heard it faintly. That was the sound of approaching sirens.

"Urahara this isn't funny!"

"What are you saying? It's hilarious! You just don't have a sense of humor."

"Help me before the cops show up!"

"Don't be ridiculous my friend. Our law enforcement officers are going to arrive courtesy of an anonymous tip call, aka my fabulous self. Speaking of which, I gotta go before they think to arrest me too. Catch you later buddy," and he hoped off the dumpster and strolled away hummingthe theme song to Pirates of the Caribbean. As the sound faded, Isshin would have sworn he heard his soon to be deceased friend sing, "Heyo~, I'm Captain Jack Sparro~w."

"Urahara, you bastard!" Isshin roared and slammed his fist against the side of the vent, "You better hope they lock me up because when I find you, you're going to die! Slowly! Painfully! In agony! You hear me?"

The humming was fading rapidly.

"Damn it, come back!"

Silence except for the growing wail of sirens, "That evil, conniving, misbegotten son of a –"

A screech of tires; Isshin closed his eyes and waited for the end. There was a door opening and slamming shut, several crunching footsteps.

"I don't see anyone. You?"

"No, could just be a stupid prank call."

"Maybe, I'll check around back."

More footsteps as the officer walked around the building,

"Still nothing!"

"I'm telling you it was a crack call."

"Fine, let's go."

Had they missed him? _Please God let them have overlooked me_, Isshin prayed.

"Good evening officers!"

_Oh no._

"How are you this fair night?"

That stupidly cheerful voice. It couldn't be.

"Any luck with your search?"

He wouldn't. After everything they'd been through together, he couldn't.

"Didja check the vents? Burglars are always in the vents in the movies."

He did. _I'm going to murder him_.

"Well, I'll be," one of the cops said, "Thank you, son."

"Just doing my civic duty."

_I'll kill him. I'll kill him!_

"Can I watch?"

"Sure, why not?"

_That two faced bastard!_

"Hey there," a hand grabbed his ankle and Isshin flinched, "need a little help, buddy?"

Isshin's face was burning, with rage or shame he couldn't tell.

"Let's get you down."

In the end it took both policemen and one of the reinforcements to pull him out of the vent. Isshin felt like a gibbering mess. He thought his humiliation was complete; sitting in an empty parking lot, hands cuffed behind his back, asshole friend chatting up one of the cops. He thought wrong.

"Mr. Kurosaki?"

That feminine voice, it was horribly familiar, "Misaki?"

He saw her now. She was wearing that blue uniform and looked confused, "Mr. Kurosaki, you're a thief!"

_Wha-?_ "No! No, you've got it all wrong! I was just – I mean – you're a police officer?" he was babbling, it didn't bode well.

"I joined two weeks ago, I'm working interrogations. I can't believe you were _stealing_. How despicable."

Isshin's head was spinning. He felt woozy, in danger of passing out. Misaki, police, interrogation, two weeks, fourteen days, stealing, that bastard Urahara, thief, despicable, Misaki, repeat. Cannot compute. _Error. Error._ _Error. _

He felt a warm hand against his back. _Urahara, _he thought faintly.

"I told you I'd get you an hour play time. I hear processing takes three hours, _at least_. Have fun," whispered into his ear from the smirking lips of the mastermind himself.

Isshin laughed until he cried. He never fully recovered from the ordeal.

**A/N: Finally! I'm done! Thank you, thank you! Take a bow. This was based on:**

**A Cleveland burglary suspect was caught in the act after getting stuck in a restaurant's rooftop air conditioning vent.**

**It happened at Burger Haven on Broadway Avenue in Cleveland.**

**Police at the scene said Edward Lawson scaled the brand new Burger Haven restaurant early Thursday morning and noticed an old AC unit cover.**

**"They ripped it off and got halfway in the store and they couldn't go anywhere else. So he was just hanging there," said owner.**

**The man was stuck in the vent. Someone spotted Lawson on the roof and called 911.**

**When officers arrived, they couldn't find the guy at first. Then, they saw his legs dangling from the ceiling.**

**The man was rescued and arrested in a matter of hours and booked into jail.**

**Burger Haven will install a surveillance system and add a more secure cover on the vent.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Main Characters: Ishida (it's all about Ishida, little smartass that he is), Ry****ū****ken (Ishida's dad), Unohana, and scant mentions of Kenpachi and Ikkaku**

**Warnings: Language (cause Ishida's a tweenager, *stifled laughter*), minimal OCC (for once), sentence fragments, obscure information that you will never need to know and…hmm…I think that's it. Okay!**

**Disclaimer: I am…in no way, shape, or form associated with the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art. I haven't even been there. Seriously. **

Just because, Ishida frowned in the backseat of his father's car, he liked to sew did not mean that he was a complete idiot for art-centric things. Not that there was anything wrong with art, of course, but he didn't understand why people felt the need to pretend they saw deep meaningful symbols in crudely expressed layers of color. Simulacra was the technical term for the religious representation of this phenomenon (people who suffered from it were deemed mildly delusional) but when it happened with ART then you were either a future philosopher or some kind of revolutionary free thinker.

Stupid and pointless both ways but despite his emphatic arguments with clear, valid points on why he _did not want_ to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art on his Saturday when he could be doing other more productive things like reading about Fermat's Last Theorem or finishing the miniaturized rendering of a Chinese silk kimono from a 16th century harem for his two foot tall mannequin (Christmas present: age 10), he was still forced into the car.

His father was clearly underestimating him if he didn't see that Ishida knew the only reason he was getting dropped off at the place was so that his father could drink at home in private. It was almost sad. Almost, not quite, because he was still in the _damned_ car on the way to the _damned_ museum without his _freaking_ books. His thirteenth birthday had just passed the other day and he was not pleased with the progression of his station at all.

"Father –" he began.

A pale hand twists the knob of the ancient stereo cranking up the volume of the Oldies Channel.

_Yummy, yummy, yummy._

_ I got love in my tummy,_

"Father," he said louder, "I must object to this."

_Peaches and cream._

_ Kind-a like sugar,_

_ Kind-a like spices._

"Yes, son?"

_Good enough to eat thing,_

_ And sweet thing, that ain't no lie._

Ishida's eye is twitching and he stifles the childish urge to flail around screeching until the horrid sound ceases and his father agrees to take him home, "Could you please," he adds in the please to speed things along, "turn off that," _disgusting noise_, he wants to say, "particular brand of music?"

_Sweeter than sugar._

_ Ooh love, I won't let you gooooo._

"Relax; it's only fifteen more minutes till we get there."

Either his father had developed an intense hatred for him overnight and desired to torture him with auditory stimuli or he was going deaf in his old age and failed to hear the question. Perhaps his temporal lobe was malfunctioning and he misinterpreted the query.

_Ooh love, to hold ya,_

_ Ooh love, to kiss ya,_

_ Ooh love, I love it sooooo._

Ishida breaths deeply, covers his ears, and slumps over to the left. He hits his head on the door frame and the seatbelt is digging into his windpipe. He remains curled in that position with his eyes closed thinking of dresses with floral designs and perhaps a pleasing infusion of geometric shapes to draw the eye, for the remainder of the ride.

_Yummy, yummy, yummy._

_ I got love in my tummy,_

The very _long_ remainder of the ride.

XXX

His father ushers him out of the car, leaving Ishida to stare forlornly after the rapidly retreating vehicle while standing, quite depressed, on the front steps of the museum. He considers sitting there on the stone for the next three hours. He sits. Waits. Counts seconds by Mississippi's. In five minutes, 300 Mississippi's later; a guard taps on his shoulder.

Ishida turns minutely to look up at him, and continues up, and up, head tilting to squint in the glare. The guy had to be over six feet tall and looked like a nut job with dozens of golden bells dangling from his hair. The fact that he was wearing a security uniform and therefore, in possession of a weapon, did not help matters.

"Kid."

Ishida turns back around to stare at his sneakers and feels his shoulders rise in an attempt to make himself smaller. _Maybe if I'm very still, he won't see me, _is the mindset of prey and never a very successful mindset either.

"Your parents here?"

He shakes his head very slowly, looking from his left shoe (light blue with a white rubber sole and crossing dark laces) to his right shoe (likewise, but with a slight smudge on the pristine heel).

"You all alone?"

Ishida sees a leg in his peripheral vision and subtly inches away from it. He spots the doors to the museum behind him and –

"Come with me."

- makes a break for it. He hears a shout behind him but doesn't stop, sprinting through the double, handicap friendly, doors. He pauses for a split second, eyes darting, and hurtles into the elevator in front of him jabbing the CLOSE button as the guard comes into view. The metal doors slide soundlessly shut and Ishida heaves a sigh of relief, ignoring the scandalized looks from the family of four already occupying the elevator.

"It's rude to point," he addresses the child leaning against her mother. The parents are quietly conferring and he senses a call to security may be imminent, "I'm playing hide and seek with my brother," he lies easily, "he works here."

They buy it and he steps out on the third floor, turning left to walk along the display case, peering past the glass at the exhibits. He notes the title: BRITISH SILVER, in copperplate font, and the subtitle: The Wealth of a Nation. Tableware, intricately decorated spoons, plates, and bowls, with gold overlays, but tableware nonetheless. A middle aged woman wearing a shirt two sizes too small for her ohhed and ahhed over a set of forks while her husband glanced at his watch.

He moves on and sees equally embellished sword sheaths. A boy, maybe his own age, with orange hair is pressed against the glass, gaping at them in wonder. Pathetic, he nearly snorts with contempt, remembers himself, and brushes past the uneducated moron.

Next to said uneducated moron is a twin to the moron with white hair. This one appears; if possible, less intelligent as he is sitting on the floor, hands in his pockets, glaring at passerbys, and smiling in an unbalanced fashion. Ishida dismisses them both and enters the next wing.

He observes various examples of red and black Chinese lacquers from the 13th to 16th century. He stays a minute to memorize the distinctive swirl pattern for later integration in design patterns and avoids another guard standing superfluously in a corner by exiting the exhibit swiftly.

Resigned to the overall mediocrity of the following experience, Ishida steps under an arch reading, in a nearly illegible scrawl of cursive, Byzantium and Islam: Age of Transition. He examines the carved marble, barely glances at several articles of moth-eaten clothing, and stops dead in front of a map depicting the migration of pilgrimages. He blinks at it. Tilts his head to the side as if that will help him see it better. Blinks again. Tilts his head the other way.

Ishida sighs, and cleans his glasses with the bottom of his shirt. He replaces them and walks over to an information spewer by the marble. He sighs, shakes his head in disgust at the relative idiocy of humanity, and attracts the attention of the guide.

"Excuse me?"

The guide, a bald, caucasian male, talks over him. Unacceptable. He has been ignored too many times today. He isn't happy, his father left him, he was practically assaulted by a giant (a slight exaggeration), and he wanted to go home. Being ignored by someone who was likely still in high school like he was some kind of _child_ was the last…fucking…straw.

"Sir," he says sharply, "your map of the Byzantium Empire is incorrect."

"Hah?" the guide doesn't look like he cares, "It is correct, _kid_."

Ishida's eyebrow tics, "Actually," he begins pleasantly, drawing the attention of the group formerly focused on the baldy, "in addition to the fact that the Sea of Azov is _missing_, _sir_, you've mislabeled Caesarea as Ctesiphon. Ctesiphon was, as I'm _sure_ you know, a city in the _Persian_ empire to the south east of Edessa and Antioch."

He notes the blank expressions of the majority of his audience and finishes snidely, "_Sir_." Normally, he isn't quite so obvious with contempt but it's been a hard day.

"Yeah," the guide is befuddled (as he should be, the idiot), "Lemme just…call my superior. Okay, right," and he vanishes minutely in search of a telephone.

Ishida crosses his arms, "You do that," he mutters and waits, scowling. The tour group observe him like he's a particular breed of mammal they've never seen before. He's sorely tempted to snarl at them but restrains himself.

The idiot tour guide who is now sweating profusely returns in tow of a kind looking woman with a long braid draped over her shoulder. She crouches down to Ishida's level and smiles at him, "Hello," she says, "I'm in charge of this exhibit. My name is Unohana. What did you say the problem was?"

"The Sea of Azov isn't there," he explains as they walk over to the map. He points it out, and she nods in contemplation. The tourists follow like sheep after their Sheppard, "and Ctesiphon right there should be Caesarea."

"Oh my," she whispers, "however did we miss this? Thank you very much…?"

"Ishida," he relaxes at last, "Uryuu, Ishida. No problem."

"Thank you Ishida," she smiles at him, "We'll fix it right away. Are your parents around?"

Again with this question. "No," he tenses again, "my Dad left me here."

"Mmm," Unohana hums and peers at him more closely, "How would you like to see the new exhibit we're working on while you wait?"

Ishida is suspicious but asks, "What is it?"

"The Rinpa Aesthetic in Japanese Art," she raises a skim brow, "Are you interested in Japanese history as well as Middle Eastern?"

He's just died and gone to heaven. It's the only explanation. With new visions of kimono designs forming he nods mutely and follows her away, barely noting when she takes his hand to lead him to something new.

In two hours, 7,200 Mississippi's (not that he was keeping count or anything) later, his father arrives back at the museum to pick him up. Ishida is silent in the backseat on the ride home until his father asks in a mildly slurred tone, "Have fun?"

Ishida considers the probability of his father actually caring about his response and finds it minimal. "A little. I met the Curator and she bought me ice cream." Two scoops of vanilla and all the chopped peanuts he wanted. It was perfect.

"That's nice."

He settles himself back into the upholstery, "Yes," he says, "it was."

XXX

A week later when Ishida takes in the newspaper he pauses, reading the front page. BOY, 13, FINDS MISTAKE ON METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART MAP. He carefully folds the paper over his picture (he had no recollection of one being taken) and straightens the edges until one lays precisely over the other. Then he resolved to burn it in the middle of the night.

"Uryuu!" he hears his father call him from inside the house.

"Yes?" he reminds himself to be perfectly calm. Nothing out of the ordinary here. He begins walking back to the porch.

"Did you get the paper?"

"No," he stuffs the newsprint under his shirt, "must be another postal delay. Perhaps it will be here tomorrow."

"Oh never mind. I'll just be modern and use the computer."

"Father that may not be the best ide-"

"Look," he is cut off, "it's that museum you were at the other week on the home page. It says here that…" the voice trails off. Ishida considers running very quickly in the opposite direction. He palms the doorknob wondering if the following lecture is going to be worse than the one he received the time he informed his music teacher (a first year college graduate) that he was playing a B-flat scale when he should have been playing a B-sharp (Ishida was eleven at the time and expelled from Musical Theory. He was still right, even if the teacher was too embarrassed to admit it).

"URYUU! AGAIN?"

_Shit._

XXX

**A/N: Because you too can go through puberty, define socially awkward, and still be smarter than someone twice your age. Go for it. I dare you. Original article was: **

**Boy, 13, finds mistake on Metropolitan Museum of Art map (of the Byzantine Empire) the Connecticut art history buff spotted an error in an exhibit no one else had noticed.**

**And this is for DestinyCrusader's birthday. Because I'm too broke to actually buy something and I **_**think**_** she prefers this anyway. **


End file.
